He worked on cars. [That's the first thing, the sharpest memory.] For a living, he was a mechanic. His hands were always dirty. I had oil stains all over my t-shirts, but he'd get new ones when he could.

He was - serious. Didn't talk much. Didn't smile much at all. Mom leaving hit him hard, I can see it now, and I don't think he knew what to do with me. But he took good care of me. Having him was enough.

[He feels anger when he thinks of it, spreading out in all directions, making hin tense up again. Anger at the Army of the 12 Monkeys. Anger at Aaron for giving them up. Anger at himself for putting his father in danger to save his own skin.]

He's all I had.